Who Am I?
by daisherz365
Summary: Every day since the fall, and times before Molly Hooper wakes up with a single question in her head. It might not mean anything to anyone but to her it feels like the weight of her existence. Every morning after she gets dressed and is ready to head out the door either to her job or just out into the city, she stands in front of the mirror and asks the question. Post Reichenbach


WHO AM I?

**A/N: This has been a very trying piece that have slowly been working up to finishing off. I think I can let out a sigh of relief out now that it's out in the open. Let me know what you think please? – day**

_I don't want to talk about it to you  
I'm not an open book that you can rifle through  
The cold hard truth that you'll see right to  
I'm just basket case without you_

_He's not a magic man or a perfect fit_  
_But had a steady hand and I got used to it_  
_And a glass cage heart and invited me in_  
_And now I'm just a basket case without him_

_You're begging for the truth_  
_So I'm saying it to you_  
_I've been saving your place_  
_And what good does it do?_  
_Now I'm just a basket case_

_- _Basket Case by Sara Bareilles

_xx_

Every day since the fall, and times before Molly Hooper wakes up with a single question in her head. It might not mean anything to anyone but to her it feels like the weight of her existence. Every morning after she gets dressed and is ready to head out the door either to her job or just out into the city, she stands in front of the mirror and asks the question. "Who am I?"

It's a simple question to anyone else but to her, it's like finding the right path to follow day in and day out. She used to know the answer to it but it's slowly become a little blurry as to what she's doing and why. Is she still the same woman she was when she first moved to London, absolutely not though a part of her likes to imagine what it would be like to meet that twenty something year old version of herself and try to prepare her for all of that.

It's futile to want such a thing. She knows and she hates knowing that she isn't the same. She has some of the same ideals that she had when moving to this great city but she's someone else. Someone that she feels is drowning in the puddle of uncertainty that were placed for her when she asked him, "What do you need?" Sherlock Holmes changed her life and she's still trying to decide whether she can find that strong, slightly confident woman who left home in search for the morgue in London and maybe just a little excitement.

She hides her contemplation well. A mask that was so hard to crumble with a single a deduction from a man who had the bluest eyes, and a sharp tongue to match is now albeit a bit shaky a bit more stable. Or as stable as it could get without said man around.

He left nearly two years ago without a single word. Molly pretended that it didn't bother her and went about her usual routine as if she hadn't harbored him in her small flat for two weeks and three days. She pretended not to feel like the weight of the world became that much more apparent on her chest – not her shoulders. She wouldn't have been able to carry it.

There were many days when she figured that maybe she could do this. All was going to be fine, as long as she didn't think about all of the grief she was putting not only herself but others through. Then, John Watson was rushed to the ER with contusions and an actually broken leg. That's when everything grew even more difficult to manage on her own.

That is also when she found herself in the company of the dead man. She had snuck off to the loo for a little while to catch her breath and try to put herself together. She hated how painful it was to be in a room with John Watson, even more so when he was scowling and trying not to shout obscenities at anyone in the room. The only godsend she could possible imagine is the nurse who is determined to make sure that her charge i.e. John quickly recovers is out of her hair. Molly has come to observe people a bit more closely ever since the Jim incident and she sees something in this nurse whose name is Mary. She also notices the smile that flits across her face when she thinks no one is paying any attention to her as she assists John in making him as comfortable as possible and talking to him.

Actually speaking to him unlike she has. He was the one who had sent for her while she was on her lunch. Now she stood in a dimly lit bathroom completely alone. She had taken a few breathes and closed her eyes for a few minutes. Her eyes opening as she stood hunched over the sink, her hands splayed on its side. She begins to start the confirmation of who exactly she is when the door opens and then is shut and locked in the same motion.

Molly Hooper doesn't waver as he moves with careful footsteps behind her. Her eyes have strayed to the sink again as she straightens up and turns on the water to wash her hands. She hasn't touched anything but it's more of something to do while she tells him what he wants to know. She can smell a distinct scent of after shave but it isn't what he usually uses. It's something cheap and musky. Not very all that nice to her. She begins talking after her second wash through.

"He's fine. I mean he actually broke his leg and he might have a concussion but he's alive. He called me here but hasn't said a word and I don't understand why. John and I haven't spoken in two months. He seems irritable at best but he's fine. You could have just texted me or something." She finishes, clearing her throat as she moves out of the warm physical space that he has decided he wants in order to get the information he's come for.

"Molly." He calls her as she's drying her hands.

"Yes." She states but it's clear to both of them that she isn't in the mood to talk.

She hears him sigh and she doesn't know if he's just tired or the effort of dealing with her right now is annoying to him. She bets it's a bit of both. Her eyes shut as a word filters through her head and she has to bite her tongue as to not start muttering the little mantra that she's had to try to start saying to herself daily just to keep herself sane.

She inhales a bit of air, it's one of those things that makes her realize that she isn't entirely gone yet. She's still alive and breathing. Though it may not feel like it right now.

"I'll keep a close eye on him. I haven't been very social lately. It'll be fine." She chanced a glance at him as she swept her hair out of her face from when she was looking down. He looked terrible and she nodded at that before moving towards the door, unlocking it and pulling it open only to stop when she heard his voice telling her one last thing.

"Thank you."

Molly rushed out of there without a second thought. She should feel happy to finally be getting some form of acknowledgement for the things she's doing. Instead she feels like crying. Her heart hurts and she doesn't know how to dull the throbbing that has turned into an intense ache. This is longing for something better than this. Is there anything possibly better than this?

The answer turns out to be no. Two months later, while things do seem less bleak and she actually presenting the façade of being normal and all that comes with that. She's visited John in the hospital and when he was released. They had tea and watched intense thrillers that John seemed to have gotten in the habit of purchasing. Molly tries to stop wanting to talk about Sherlock with him, knowing that seeing these type of films is the only way he can cope in his own way. He misses the adventures and thrill that Sherlock gave him. He misses his friend and Molly feels like shouting it again, "SHERLOCK HOLMES IS NOT DEAD. HE'S ALIVE. HE'S SOMEWHERE TAKING A PART THE DEMENTED WORKINGS OF A CRIMINAL NETWORK THAT JAMES MORIARTY CREATED. HE'LL BE BACK ONE DAY AND NONE OF THIS WILL MATTER. YOU'LL SMILE AND IT'LL BE WONDERFUL. PUNCH HIM, YOU'LL PUNCH HIM A FEW TIMES. HE'LL BE BACK AND IT'LL BE GREAT."

However, Molly doesn't know if there is even a possibility of greatness with the return of the dead man. She used to crave greatness. It was one of things the chief of staff during her days in medical school continued to say. "You'll aspire for greatness and if you got in you, you'll achieve it. You have to want it."

Sherlock Holmes was great, brilliant even but it came with a price and that price was something that was still shaking her interworkings. It had all been very clinical and easy, the act of murdering him or what people saw his him biggest choice – to die, commit suicide and leave more blood stained to his hands than he had before. He wasn't what they said in the papers. He was human and he cared for those three friends he left her flat to come back home to.

_Doubt_. It's a noun that is easily defined as a feeling of uncertainty or lack of conviction. Molly Hooper doesn't doubt who she is protecting. She knows that. She doubts who she is because of it. Every day the mantra slowly crumbles into things that she doesn't want to recognize but she does. Today, it is this. "My name is Molly Emilie Hooper and I am a pathologist at Saint Bartholomew Morgue. There is blood on my hands and I don't know how to erase it. Just a few hours ago, I murdered someone in my own bedroom."

A lot has happened since she walked out of her room still covered in the red sticky substance that some said smelled like copper. It smelt like something completely different to her; death. Considering that the man who was slayed on the floor of her room was indeed dead now it fit. She must have called the cops for at some point the feel of the device crushed against her hand as she squeezed it into a fist. She dropped it as a flurry of people flooded into her flat. Among the lot of them was D.I. Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan.

The latter passed by and into the hall that would lead to the room of destruction. There was blood all over it, along with her fingerprints. She did sleep in there and she had been sleeping when he came in. She didn't know him.

Lestrade was staring at her concerned for her, she supposed. It was only a few seconds before the curly haired woman came back with a look of shock on her face. "Sir, that man is on Interpol's Most Wanted list. He's a hired assassin that was supposed to have been on the books for at least three of UK's largest criminal networks. I don't understand why he was here for her." The way that Donovan had said 'her' was like she was belittling Molly and that had Greg Lestrade staring her down as if she herself had caused harm to the petite pathologist.

"Make sure they clear the room. I don't need your pissy attitude tonight, Donovan."

"Why? Because she was in love with the freak?" Molly flinched at the term that the woman had used to describe Sherlock. He wasn't a freak, he was just Sherlock. Why didn't people understand that?

"No, because she's in shock. You're usually better than this." Molly had seemed to zone out after that. There were flashes that surrounded her but she couldn't remember much of it. She talked with Lestrade but everything felt so far away that she couldn't possibly tell what she had said or what had happened.

She had soon been ushered to her bathroom when nearly everyone was gone. Lestrade stayed behind to make sure she was going to be okay and after a bit of an insisting on both their parts he left, leaving two uniforms outside her flat and another two outside the building just in case.

Now, she sat naked and against the wall in her shower which was a large enough size that she could huddle up against the side of it and sit letting the jets of water cover her as she trembled and cried. She wept until the darkness consumed her and she was sure that she would still be there laying in the tub on her side – cold, motionless, alive.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in her bathroom or anywhere close to her own flat. She could vaguely gather the feel of being tugged and pulled up but everything was a bit hazy. She had been unconscious at the time. Her eyes blinked slowly as she registered everything around her. She was in a room alone, but it looked as if someone did live there.

Molly slowly uncurled herself from the bed where she was practically swallowed up by sheets and comforters. Someone had obviously put her there. Who? That soon became the surface of all her thoughts as she slipped off the bed and walked over to the small dress that had a mirror bolted onto it. There wedged in the corner of the mirror was a small slip of paper. It had her name on it. Just _Molly_.

As she reached for it she caught her form in the reflection of it. She looked better than she has been in days plus the added benefit of being clothed in her own clothes. A grey camisole hidden under her dark blue cardigan, along with a pair of warm up pants and socks that had multicolored stripes that went horizontally. Her hair was down and loose but no longer wet, her auburn ringlets fell in waves against her shoulders. She stopped looking beyond that, grasping the page in her hand. It was a small envelope, instead of a page. It was quite thin but it seemed to also have a bit more of a bulkiness to it.

Inside were a few wallet sized photographs and a small note. The pictures she let fall onto the dresser as she grasped the note. There was only a few lines on the page but there wasn't any indication who could have sent it. It was typed out in times new roman. It read:

_A car is waiting outside. Eat the breakfast on the table then go. _

She flipped it over just to be sure there hadn't been more. She felt even more confused than she already was. However she decided to heed the note just this once. She doubted she'd be back here again. She put it down on the dresser before looking about the room again, ignoring the black and white photographs that if were in color spelt out the horror the previous night. She noticed a pair of shoes sitting near the door which was left open ajar. They were her size but it wasn't hers. She didn't see any harm in putting them on so she did so and slipped out of the room.

The flat wasn't all the large, it was more of a loft. The scent of eggs and bacon drifted in from one of the room nearby and she followed it and sat at the table. She was utterly alone once again and that didn't comfort her in the slightest. It only seemed to make her feel even more aware of what had happened despite the obviousness of why she wasn't at home right now. She was supposed to forget about it, completely. It wasn't in the note, but what was the point of her waking up here when everything had gone so horribly wrong. She shook her head. This wasn't the first time something had gone horribly wrong. It might be on the top of list of the wrongs that had happened to her.

She did try to forget it as she ate the food which was still piping hot. That didn't surprise as much seeing as it had been covered. She savored the taste of it all before she righted herself as she walked out of the door and down the stairs in a city that wasn't London – that was obvious, and slipped in the car that was waiting.

She had written something on a napkin and pinned it with her knife on the table. It was just as small as the note that had been left for her but said enough to signify what she felt she needed to convey in those few words.

In the days and months that followed Molly begun to try to formulate her life back into the days before any of this happened although she didn't feel it was all real. She knew the facts of it all and little things would remind of this. She ended up moving from the flat that she had ever since moving to London because of the biggest reminder. She couldn't sleep in her room and the couch wasn't exactly comfortable though she managed on it just fine. It took her a month to decide to start searching for a new place.

That's when things not only started to turn around as best as they could for her and her orange tabby but also for those who still connected her to the man who she hadn't seen since she picked up the pieces of a fallen man (metaphorically and physically) and got him out and on a train to where he needed to go. John Watson had slowly come back into her life albeit with hesitation as he seemed nervous and irritated when in her presence for the longest though neither of them broached the subject of why and truly talked it out. It was on a day when she decided to tell him that she was moving out of her place near Bart's to somewhere new. He, she knew was no longer at Baker St. but all the same offered to talk to Mrs. Hudson about possibly allowing her usage of the basement flat at 221.

Molly quickly declined not wanting to be that close to the memories of Sherlock. It would only trigger an influx of guilt and sorrow and she was trying to put that behind her, not that John needed to know about any of that. She did mention that it would feel wrong for her to invade the space that once held such good memories for him. She didn't want to taint it with her silliness. She told him boldly that she knew that Sherlock detested her for that. It was something that she believed and John had looked sadly at her but didn't refute that claim.

It gave Molly some perspective as to where she stood but at the same time she hated it. She hated him for making her feel so low about herself. Most of all in that moment she wished he was in spitting distance of her so that she could grab him by his curls or what was left of them if he hacked them away and cause him pain until he begged her to stop. That was all in her head though, she knew she couldn't actually hurt the man, not even if she truly wanted to. As of late it seemed she wanted to do that more often than not.

John was the one who found the place for her as he was looking for a place other than the one he had previously due to his army pension. Molly realized quickly that he wasn't looking to get out of London just to find a way around the memories of his dead friend and partner in crime. Molly knew of Sherlock's method and had read John's blog all through their time together, they had been all over the city on their first night together that much was clear. She wished she knew where he could look but she had gratefully allowed him to take her to the building to view the flat.

It turned out to be exactly what she needed. It was deep in the city but it was also close enough that she would be okay for transit and what not. The landlady who showed them the place thought they were a couple looking for the both of them but with two reddened faced people and a very loud exclamation of the contrary from Molly and John, she chuckled and gave them the tour. It was near the channel so there was a view – very small of it from the window that overlooked the kitchen which was much larger than her last one. It had an office and a medium sized room that was also a bit larger than she was used to but Molly liked the look of the place. There was no mold or anything that she could complain about. So after discussing how much it would be and scheduling another appointment for the following week to sign papers and such, Molly and John headed out to grab a bit to eat. It was there that Molly learned about a new friend of John's. A female friend, who he admitted with a bit of guilt might have been the one behind his new found want to be in her company.

"What's her name?" She asked him as they settled in a small café not too far away from the building where her potentially new flat was located. "Mary Morstan, she's lovely." Molly smiled for the first time in a long while at how the former army doctor's face lit up as he smiled at the mention of the woman in his life. It was clear to her that this woman was a good influence on him. She did get him to interact with Molly after all. Though she could admit she could have probably tried a bit harder. She had done her best but she didn't think it had been enough.

He need someone who didn't know an ounce about either of them to push him or guide as she soon realized could have been the case. John talked fondly of his Mary for a little while before asking if Molly was seeing any blokes. She just gave him a half smile before shaking her head. "I don't think I'm ready just yet. I can't seem to shake Sherlock Holmes even though he isn't here anymore. Lestrade did tell you, didn't he?"

"I don't really talk to Lestrade or anyone besides Mrs. Hudson and even then it's nothing to put a damper on my mood or state of mind. Mary has been tagging along, Mrs. Hudson is rather fond of her after all. What's happened, Molly?" He seemed genuinely confused for a moment before his eyes held concern. It almost made Molly feel bad about the news she was about to share with him.

However, when she told him about the man that had once lay dead in her bedroom she didn't know what would happen. It wasn't he who she should have worried about, it should have been herself. She hadn't even realized that she was shaking until John was holding her hands in his and trying to get her to relax. It was then when she realized that she was shaking. She apologized to him profusely. John waved away her apologies without another word and helped her the best he could to try to gain back her composure. It wasn't her that felt bad now it was him. He had no idea that she had been through all of this, alone.

Instead of telling her that she would be fine, he pulled her out of her seat and held her close as they headed down the street to one of the main streets to hail a cab. John was there for her for the few hours that she would allow him to be before he got a call from Mary who wanted to have dinner that night but Molly was his concern and he almost cancelled on her as he explained a part of the situation but Molly was quick to grab the phone from him and speaking he first words to the woman while also telling her that John would be there to have a lovely time and that he wouldn't worry so much about her because she fine. John didn't believe her of course but couldn't not go now that Molly had told his girlfriend that he would.

He only sighed and gave her an affectionate peck on the forehead before heading out, promising that he would come by again soon or visit her at the morgue. He did the latter within the next few days once he figured out her schedule. Sherlock was so much better at knowing when she would be around than he was. A comfortable balance started to slowly follow and one day she finally meet Mary in the flesh.

Mary was a lovely woman, just as John had said she was. She had kind eyes but a wicked personality that meshed well with the former army doctor's. Molly was quick to notice the mayhem that would happen with the two of them around but it wasn't bad – not in the slightest. The two of them soon had her coming out for drinks and giggling like mad at some of the stories that they told her about their courtship so far. John was off his game for the better part of it which made it that much more enthralling for Molly to hear about. He was endearing that way. It made it even sweeter.

Molly started to have a good time with the duo and eventually waned down to just enjoying the company of Miss Morstan. She would get Molly to go shopping with her or invite her to her place for tea and have a chat or two. It was all so lovely until the day come many months later when the announcement reached her in the post. They were to be wedded. Molly knew this wasn't a bad thing in the slightest. It was just later on that day after she called the couple up to congratulate them on their engagement that everything sort of took a turn.

"I know he hated things like this but I would have really loved it if he was there. It makes me so sad but Mary makes me happy and I just don't want to spend another day without her. Sorry, you're only one who could possibly understand how much this hurts me. He was my best friend. I wish I didn't have to settle for someone less adequate." John's chuckled a little after that. Molly could tell that it was something that weighed heavily on his heart but for a moment it felt like Sherlock was around using words like that. "I sounded like him there for a moment. You'll come won't you? It would mean a lot to Mary and me to have another friend there who understands."

"Am I a stand in, then?" Molly asked him quietly. Just saying the words made her heart squeeze a bit. Damn Sherlock Holmes. He was ruining such a happy occasion. This would be a good time for her to reappear again, she thought. At the same time it would botch it up. Molly was so conflicted internally about all of this.

"No! Never that, Molly believe me. I just mean that you're the only person that I have from that previous part of my life. It would mean a lot to me not to mention Mary because she adores you. We just want you to be happy for a day, and if this could help we want you there."

"Okay." She said even though there were several reasons she was thinking of why she should have declined. They turned the discussion to something a bit lighter before Molly ended the call, her feline Toby came up to her meowing with the need of food. She told John that she really was happy for him and Mary once again before she bid him a farewell for the day and let out a sigh.

Everything was getting better for her friends, but nothing was really changing for her. No matter how much she wished it would all just go away. No matter how much she wished she had the ability to delete certain memories from her mind, she just couldn't and that is why, two months and three weeks later only three more weeks until the impending nuptials of Miss Morstan and Doctor John Watson another bewildering setback snuck up on everyone.

Molly had just gotten home from work, it was nearly four a.m. and she was just about ready to crawl under the sheets of her bed and stay there for the next three days as she hadn't needed to come in. She used to funnily enough yearn for those wake up calls on her days off to get back in the morgue if only to have a glimpse at the tall detective in the coat with the curls but she had come to find an odd contentment in being able to do whatever she pleased since he left – this world to some, from her flat she was the only one who knew.

Her phone rang, buzzing lowly from within her coat pocket eliciting a groan out of her mouth. She sat up from her slump position on her sofa and retrieve it. Toby had come and curled up next to her. He let out a hiss of discontentment at being both ignored and interrupted from the quiet that once had been there. Molly accepted the call without even looking. Her eyes were barely open as it but she was able to feel around for the key to answer it all the same.

"Hello…" She said quietly. She was sure she sounded tired enough and that would give whomever had decided that she needed to be contacted for whatever reason the greatest clue that they should just forget whatever they need to tell her until later on in the day.

"Molly! He's alive. Sherlock, he's not dead. The bastard is sitting right here in my sitting room with that look on his face. You remember the look. God, Molly…are you there?" Molly Hooper could hear the words he was saying and she supposed she should have said something to give him an idea of what she was feeling in that point but she couldn't even come up with the words to express that. So, instead she ended the call, tossed her phone somewhere – she wasn't really looking and pulled her cat into her arms as her body began to shake.

She felt maniac in comparison as to what she figured she would have felt when she got the news either from the telly or from a call just like that one. She knew he wouldn't come and tell her himself, she wasn't that important. Her body was giving off the signs of being elated but at the same time mournful. She didn't understand. This was what she wanted. She wanted him to come back and be here for his friends but there was a part of her that still couldn't cope with everything that had happened since. No matter how much she blocked it out the one thing she wished she didn't know was that she had been one of those people who he set out to capture before. She murdered someone, and ever since it had happened she had stopped allowing herself to question who she was. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to know anything.

The idea that the one person who could dissect her piece by piece with just one look was back and able to do just that overwhelmed her with pain. She didn't want this. She didn't want any of this.

She unwrapped her arms from around her feline, sure that she was probably suffocating him and took off for her bedroom and shut the door. She ignored the clawing at her door as she slipped off each article of clothing she had on apart from her undies. She reached into the third drawer down on the first column of drawers on her dresser and pulled out the large shirt that she hadn't felt the need to wear in a long time. It belonged to her father and his scent was still there albeit just a little now.

She wished he was her. This was one of the times when she wished he was still alive so that she could weep openly in his arms and he could tell her that everything would be just fine. She was making a bigger deal out of this than was necessary, but caring had sort of gone straight out the window as she slid underneath her covers and sobbed. She stayed there for the next three days, even when someone was knocking at her door pleading for her to open it. It was John and sometimes Mary was along, she could hear their voices and appreciated them trying to be there for her but they didn't understand how damaged she had become.

Molly had started to fade into a silhouette of a person who looked like her, and sounded like her and sometimes even acted like her but on the inside she was cracked. She cleaned herself up regardless of the etching of scars that lined her inside and out, and headed back out into the world after those three days. She didn't feel any different about anything. She still felt weighed down but she waded through the worst of it and made her way through to the dimmer parts of what was left of her life.

She spent most of the next few days in her office going over paperwork, looking over things for potential write ups for a new paper she had been thinking about doing long before any of the difficult business had started a few years ago. She only left to get coffee, her lunch she brought from home was cooling nicely in the mini fridge she had tucked away in her office. It was an old thing bought from a former neighbor's graduate son after he finished uni and didn't really have a place for it in his new life. Molly liked what other people didn't want. She could hear the sarcastic remark filter through her head as if Sherlock Holmes was actually standing in her vicinity and had read her thoughts.

Nope. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him. Not even John had come around to see her since he had given up on getting her to talk to him about the arrogant sod himself. Molly ignored the text messages that she had been getting from not just John or Mary and even Sherlock who had a new phone number. It irritated her that he thought he could just try to reach out to her in that way when he hadn't even bothered to come see her even after she suspected he was filled in on everything that has happened and is happening for her and everyone he used to know. John after probably pummeling him for lying to him in the worst way informed him of what he knew about her incident inside her former apartment. If she knew Sherlock he would probably ask to see the inside of the place. He would get disappointed because it had probably been rented out again, and the stains where the blood once stained the carpet had been removed and possibly shucked somewhere in an evidence locker for inspection later by any analysts that wanted to confirm the happenings of that night. Molly knew all of it, and that is why it probably upset her more than it did other things that he wouldn't just try to come to talk to her like the detective he was to find out everything.

It made her very aware of the fact that Sherlock probably didn't want to know. Even if it was something that helped him in the long run, he was dismissing it. Dismissing her and that's what hurt more than the fact that she could see the blood on her hands once again and that was not from any autopsy's she might have done. She had started to be investigated and was sure to lose her job within the next couple weeks because of him also. Yet, he was doing nothing and she wouldn't go to him because that would be like admitting her love and dedication to him all over again and she had tried to forget how deep that affection lied, especially now.

Though she could still go into her office and use the facilities in the lab she was frightened of doing the dirty work now. Not because she hadn't after the incident but because she feared the moment she did, with this new investigation hanging over her head that someone would stop her in the middle of one of them and she didn't enjoy incomplete work of any kind. It would kill her more than the fact that she had stabbed a man thirteen times to ensure her safety in her own home. That was something that made her feel ill.

So, when the day came for the wedding between two of her good friend Molly was sure to be ready in the yellow dress that she had picked out months ago with Mary. She applied light makeup to her face mostly to conceal how tired she was once the verdict had come down and she had packed away her life away from Bart's and booked a flight for America come the next morning. She had put a ribbon in her hair, something light but nice in comparison to her usual ponytails. She looked okay, she thought as she looked back at the thread of messages between herself and Mary to confirm where she was to leave to so that she would be there on time. She still had a few hours but it would take a little time for her to get there from her place.

She tossed a few things in her little clutch that she found in a box in her closet that she had forgotten about. Among them her phone, a couple bills just in case, the nude tube of lipstick that she had put on earlier along with a second one of the red that she couldn't part with no matter how much she tried, her keys and tissues because she was sure she would need them. Weddings were always such sapping matters and one such of this would most likely get to her.

She left after making sure she had everything, her cherry cardigan slung over her arm as exited the door. It was something of a comfort for her to have it along with her. Not that she exactly needed comfort right now but she wanted to have it. The cab she had called for when she got up this morning was sitting on the curb as she came out of the building. She smiled slightly at it before climbing inside and giving the cabbie the address to the church outside of London.

Molly arrived an hour before it was set to begin and was quickly ushered inside and shown her seat which was close to the front, right behind a few family members. There weren't too many. Mary didn't have much and John only had Harriet who turned and shot Molly a smile. She had met her a couple of days ago and she seemed pleasant enough. The memories of John and Sherlock mentioning her alcoholic tendencies didn't cross her mind much when in her company especially considering that had been at a pub at the time. The woman hadn't touched any alcohol. Sober, she was.

She ignored such thoughts and looked around at the large cathedral of the church. It was beautiful. The décor provided for the occasion only seemed to embellish it a bit more. She expected nothing less though. This was a rather important event, which was clearer as the cameras that nearly blinked her outside once she came out of her cabbie. Though, she imagined that was more so from the other main attraction who had eventually made his way up the aisle with a blushing brunette whose name escaped her at the current moment however, she was Mary's maid of honor and as Sherlock Holmes was his newly appointed best man, it was clearly obvious that it was starting.

Molly's eyes didn't stray much to the best man at all really. She glanced at him once when he first entered but apart from that her attention had been on John and then Mary once she made her entrance. The ceremony was as sweet as one would imagine it would be. The duo spoke their vows that had been written for one another and soon a kiss was shared between the two of them, followed by happy cheers, and women wiping up their tears. Molly among those for she felt rather giddy at the success of everything. Nothing bad had happened and that was more than good. Everyone followed the bride and groom out for pictures and words of congratulations and then about an hour later the reception was held in large ballroom with a stage and circular tables with name cards with little doves on them.

As luck would have it, Molly and Harriet were seated next to each other and they talked amicably while eating and enjoying the beginning of the speeches given by the maid of honor who Molly finally remembered as Millie and one from Sherlock of course which was a bit more emotional than anyone was expecting, however it still came out a little awkward. It was clear he wasn't used to expressing how he felt in regards to anyone less so when it came to his best friend who was happy with someone as extraordinary as the newly claimed Mrs. Watson. It almost made Molly forget about everything, but with a slow decline of distractions the strained feels of doubt and contempt came through as others left the table and went about greeted others, Harriet included and had a jolly good time. She wished that she could but it was rather hard when she wasn't there entirely.

A distraction came in the form of a hand in front of her. Though she went out of her way to ignore it when she really inspected it and realized whom it belong to. She instead focused past the form of the man and looked at her friends on the dance floor laughing and dancing merrily. "Dance with me." She heard his deep baritone spew out the words as if they weren't supposed to come out at all.

"Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"Molly…" His voice seemed to twist into a pleading vibration that Molly didn't think she had ever heard before. She looked up at him right in the eyes, they were blank; confused.

"S-Sher-lock." Her voice catching in her throat as she forced his name to tumble out of her lips. She could see her face in the hollowness of his eyes, she looked weak and afraid and she looked away quickly.

"Please." His reply came out hoarse as if his throat was dry and he didn't know what he was supposed to do. There were people staring, she could feel them staring at her, staring at them and she wanted to go away. She told herself that was the only reason why she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up and along to the dance floor towards a safe corner where there weren't too many people but there was enough space for them. He held her close, one hand engulfed hers while the other pressed against the small of her back holding her in place. They were pressed against each other as Sherlock guided her in a small dance moving this way and that along the soft tune being played by the orchestra that were playing on stage. It was all what to expect from the two of them albeit worse.

Molly was stiff in his arms and was doing a great job at not looking at him but he was staring at her. Everyone who was anyone was staring at them as if they were something interesting to look at. Sherlock let out a sigh that rumbled deep in his chest and he was sure that Molly felt it. She didn't move to give any indication that she did however. It was disheartening really. "You've been ignoring me." He stated lowly enough so that she was the only that could hear. There were people that tried to strain their ears to listen but more than likely they couldn't hear an ounce of it.

"I don't think texts count as interaction though I'm sure you do."

"I've been to your flat…" He started, hoping that she was actually going to talk to him now.

"I've moved." Her voice came out flat.

"…with John…and Mary." He continued, he felt her tense even more if it was possible at his revelation. She didn't say anything though and they concluded the dance. Molly slipped out of his grasp without even a thank you and headed off the floor, picking up her purse as she passed by the table and exiting out the room. Mary tried to follow her but was deterred by both John and Sherlock. The latter having rushed after the petite woman without little to no thought about anything else. He needed to talk to her.

When he caught up with her he was surprised to notice she wasn't heading out to leave, instead she was going to one of the restrooms that happened to have a closed door. They were all done up and had fancy soaps and a settee to sit down on. Molly had begun to do so when Sherlock burst through the door.

"Are fucking insane?" She shouted at him, getting awkwardly to her feet, almost tumbling. She had had some wine, he realized.

"Some would say so." He told her as he reached out to steady her but she backed away from him. "What is wrong you, Molly?"

"Funny you should ask." She shot him a halfhearted smile as she turned away from him, shaking her head all the while.

"I know about…"

"You know nothing. Nothing at all. You think you can just waltz back in here and everything be fine and dandy but it's not. Okay? It's not." Her voice was beginning to crack. She looked at him and was so sure that he didn't know what to do with her when she was so emotional.

Except, he seemed to have his own idea of what he should do. He started walking up to her, only stopping a few feet away. "What gives you the idea that I don't know? Huh, I know a hell lot more than you think, I do." Molly almost sunk into the wall at how quickly his words were coming out. He was just like he always was. The second someone tried to attack him, he jumped them just as quickly and tried to put them in their place. Where he thought they belonged. Molly couldn't let him do that to her, she didn't need him to break her down until she was a mere shell of who she was supposed to be. She was already there. She had been for a very long time.

So, she slipped from under the cage kind of shield that his body and piercing gaze was pressing into her and she began shouting at him. "I killed someone in the middle of my own bedroom. You don't know what it's like to have that kind of weight on my shoulders, and to always see that blood on my hands because I just can't forget things like that. I can't be like you. It just swallows me up and nothing can ever fix that and then to just wake up with a note telling me to forget about it. What the hell is that supposed to solve? Nothing. You don't know what it's been like for me, Sherlock. You say you do, but you don't. You just…don't." She told him, words catching in her throat as she tried to bite down the sobs as she tried to actually stand her ground.

He was right there once again, standing over her; hovering. "I did it to protect you." He told her, his hands on her arms. "What?" She asked him quietly just as John peeked his head in and had almost fully stepped in. "Is everything okay? Do I need to come in?" He asked quickly as his eyes took in the scene before him.

"No." Sherlock said quickly, his hands tightening against Molly's arms. He still need to explain everything to her. He couldn't stop just yet. He was staring at her with his eyes, trying to tell her without saying it. _Don't go just yet_.

"Molly?" John asked for confirmation.

"It's fine. John, we're fine." She told him quietly, her eyes trying to figure out the sudden hold Sherlock felt he needed to have on her. His eyes looked pained, as if he was harboring something that he couldn't imagine keeping to himself for much longer. He needed her to stay and listen to it.

John nodded his head slowly but told them, "If both of you aren't back in fifteen minutes I'm letting Mary come in and I don't think either one of you would like that right now. So, get it over with whatever it is and come out."

With that said, they were back to themselves with the heavy air and the questions clouding Molly's vision. "What…what do you mean? You did what to protect me? I haven't even seen you since you left."

Sherlock was silent for a few moments but let go of her slightly. One hand came up to touch her cheek and Molly let him only for a moment. "It was me." He told her as he pressed his forehead against hers. His curls tickling her a little but she ignored it as she focused on what he said. She still wasn't sure of what he was saying. "After Lestrade and everyone left you alone, you were in the shower and you looked lost and feeble. I grabbed a towel and some of her clothes and put them in a bag I had and I took you away from there for a little while. _It was me_." He stated it again.

"I ask myself everyday who I am and I don't know who I am because of that one night. I don't know who I am, Sherlock. I don't understand why it would matter to you. So, why would you do that? Why would you try to protect me?"

"I know who you are Molly. You're just Molly and you've always been who you always are even if she got your hands dirty because of me. Believe me, Molly. I look at you and I can still see you, you can see me and I can see you don't you get it? I protected you because you needed me as much as I needed to be sure that I still had you, even a little. I watched over you as you slept for a little while, then I made you breakfast and I left because I knew I wouldn't have been able to let you walk away from me if you saw me. I was a little bit worse off than you have ever been even with the blood on your hands. I've seen more, I've done more and I wouldn't be surprised if you just decided to leave completely."

"You stupid man…" She whispered. Sherlock opened his eyes, only then realizing that during his little admission that he had shut himself off from everything else and just let it out without a care. He nearly backed away out of pure uncertainty when her hands came and pulled him back by his collar and she had his lips pressed against hers. She felt him make a noise a surprise but he pressed himself firmly against her, his arms coming to pull her tighter against him.

If his words weren't something to go by, then this. All of this said much more than that, and when John and Mary came through to check on the duo five minutes later the door closed almost as quickly in order to not interrupt that happy moment between the stubborn detective and his petite pathologist.

Mary took John's arm as they walked along the hallway back to the empty ballroom to share one last dance together. "What about America, then?"

"I'm sure he's already gotten Mycroft to cancel that." John chuckled.

"Maybe it'd be good for them to leave for a bit though." Mary mused.

"I don't think either of them need to be away right now. Still need to figure out the whole Bart's issue."

"They'll figure it out." Mary stated confidently, as John twirled her only to bring her back eliciting a giggle from her.

John nodded, leaning down to kiss his missus now that everything was settled finally. They would be leaving in the morning anyhow. All was good for the moment between the four of them.


End file.
